


You Are What You Love (Not What Loves You Back)

by menel



Series: Under the Black Light [3]
Category: Justified
Genre: Acceptance, Anger, Developing Relationship, Episode Tag, F/M, Grief/Mourning, M/M, fidelity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-24
Updated: 2013-04-27
Packaged: 2017-12-09 08:45:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/772282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/menel/pseuds/menel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A murdered former lover, a fugitive and his porn filmmaker best friend, a sexy grad student, a prison visit, and a death in the family. How are Tim and Raylan supposed to figure shit out amidst all this?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. So This is 'Good Morning'

**Author's Note:**

> This fic covers the events in 4x07 Money Trap and 4x08 Outlaw. It picks up the morning after the events in "Handle with Care." The title is courtesy of Jenny Lewis with The Watson Twins. Come to think of it, the previous fic was also a Jenny Lewis song title. I’ve never used so many song titles in my life!

Tim was in the bathroom brushing his teeth when Raylan wandered inside. He gave the other man a questioning look through the mirror. It was early (very early) by the other Marshal’s standards. He’d been certain that Raylan wouldn’t be up for at least another hour, maybe an hour and a half. Raylan shook his head non-commitedly, as if to say he wasn’t sure what he was doing up either, before running a hand through his hair. It was getting long-ish and Tim idly wondered when was the last time Raylan had it cut. Not that it really bothered him, and he certainly wasn’t going to force the issue. That was just way too . . . he couldn’t even finish that thought. 

Raylan took a leak still looking half asleep and when he was done he came to stand behind Tim, reaching around on either side of him to wash his hands. Tim half-expected him to crawl back into bed afterwards, but instead Raylan remained behind him, watching him carefully through the mirror. He appeared to be completely awake now and Tim began to grow suspicious. Raylan had that _look_ only he hadn’t seen it quite this early in the morning before. 

Tim’s suspicions were justified when Raylan got the bottle of oil that Tim had left uncapped on the bathroom counter and poured a generous amount into the palm of his left hand before proceeding to rub his hands together. _Oh no, he wouldn’t_ , Tim thought. Oh yes, he would. Then those hands were on his waist, slipping under the towel that he was wearing. It was a tight squeeze since Tim, as Raylan had pointed out earlier in the week, had ‘mean towel-wrapping skills.’ The tight squeeze was aided by the slickness of the oil and Raylan maneuvered downwards, kneading his buttocks along the way. Tim let a moan escape. It was getting harder to concentrate on brushing his teeth and when one finger traced the cleft of his buttocks before pushing inside, he all but choked on his toothbrush. 

“Fuck,” he muttered, after he spit and hurriedly rinsed his mouth. 

“That’s the general idea,” a rich voice said in his ear and this time that voice, combined with the roving fingers (there were now two of them), went straight to his cock. 

With one hand braced against the counter, Tim began loosening the knot at his waist, for once cursing his own towel-wrapping skills. The towel provided some friction, but it was hardly enough. The lust was over-taking him and he uncharacteristically let the towel fall in a heap on the floor. Then he braced himself properly with both hands on the counter and pushed back against the invading fingers (definitely three now), letting out a moan when they stroked just the right spot. The jolt that went up his spine and tingled down his legs made him spread his legs wider and push back again. 

When he wanted to, Raylan could be maddeningly slow with prep, drawing everything out almost to the point of torture, and Tim knew he could come just from Raylan finger-fucking him. He reached down to take his leaking cock in hand, but a hard slap on his wrist stopped him, followed by a nip on his earlobe. 

“That’s my job. Hands on the counter.” 

Tim groaned, as much from frustration as from desire. “Get on with it, old man,” he shot back. 

Raylan was chuckling behind him, fingers still stretching and stroking, but he had enough consideration to reach around with his other hand and grasp Tim’s cock. Tim exhaled in relief, automatically thrusting into the firm grip and then pushing back. It felt good, but it would be even better if he had Raylan’s cock inside him. Raylan apparently had the same idea because the fingers were withdrawn ( _Thank fuck_ , Tim thought) and moments later were replaced by the blunt head of Raylan’s cock. As Raylan pushed inside, Tim had a flashback to their rather strenuous activities the previous night and realized that the drive to work was going to be interesting, much less sitting at his desk for most of the day. Those concerns were minor though when Raylan began moving, his hand stroking in time to his thrusts and Tim naturally fell into the rhythm. He could feel his orgasm building until it came white hot behind his eyes and he leaned forward, placing all his weight against the bathroom counter as Raylan finished behind him, releasing Tim’s softening cock and wrapping his arm firmly around Tim’s waist for those last few thrusts. 

Raylan exhaled loudly, resting his forehead on Tim’s shoulder as his heart rate slowed. His arm was still wrapped tightly around Tim’s waist, flushing Tim’s body against his. When he lifted his head, he planted a kiss on the shoulder that he had rested on and met Tim’s blue gaze through the mirror. Tim never looked more content than after sex, all loose-limbed and sated. It was perhaps the only time that he shed the Army Ranger persona, and he was grinning lazily now as Raylan nipped and licked at his shoulder. 

“Good morning,” Raylan said. 

“It is,” Tim agreed. 

“Waking up to that every day would be a real incentive to move in,” Raylan commented. 

“Do you need any more incentive?” Tim asked, semi-seriously. 

Raylan chuckled, the slight tightness in his chest a sign that he wasn’t quite ready to answer that question yet, even though he had been foolish enough to bring up the subject. Sex with Tim made him stupid. He finally withdrew, reaching around Tim again and getting the same glass that Tim had just used, pouring some mouthwash into it and gurgling. 

Tim moved aside to allow Raylan to spit into the sink, appreciating the warm hand that was still resting on his hip. 

“You need another shower,” Raylan told him when he was done, smacking Tim on the ass. 

Tim made a face as though he’d just realized what a mess they’d made. He’d come all over the bathroom cabinet for one and that was good wood. 

“You know,” he said, pulling out a cloth and wiping the surface of the cabinet. “If we do this every morning, we’re going to be late for work.” 

“ _You’ll_ be late for work,” Raylan corrected, turning the shower on. “I already keep addict hours. Besides, Art thinks I’m coming from Harlan this morning.” He held the shower door open. “Joining me?” 

Tim shook his head but it wasn’t in response to Raylan’s question. It was disbelief at himself and his lack of self-control where the other man was concerned. He finished cleaning the cabinet and then tossed the dirty hand towel into the hamper. Then he picked up his own bath towel from the floor and hung it neatly on the bathroom rack, all the while aware of Raylan watching him. 

“Shut up,” he said when he was done and headed for the shower. 

“I didn’t say anything,” Raylan pointed out, his voice perfectly composed but his eyes were laughing. 

Tim let out a long-suffering sigh and stepped into the stall. He was fully aware that he and Raylan wouldn’t have compatible living habits when he’d made his offer, but when Raylan pressed him against the shower tiles and began to kiss him senseless, it was one of likely many issues he found that he was willing to work through.


	2. The Meaning of Fidelity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For readers who are adverse to het, I have to warn you that this chapter is all het. You can probably get away with skipping it and waiting for the third part, but Raylan does have some nice realizations towards the end.

Raylan arrived at the office typically late. He had gone to his own place first for a change of clothes since he hadn’t had the sense to bring any over before driving straight to Tim’s the night before. Tim was on the phone and looking mildly harassed when he entered. He cast Raylan a dark look as Raylan strode by, which Raylan returned with the barest tip of his Stetson. Tim’s glare grew fiercer and Raylan had to look away before he laughed. 

He went straight into Art’s office and filled the boss in on the Josiah mess, mentally steeling himself to deal with more foot puns. Art showed mercy and laid off the foot jokes, and they hashed out some ideas of how to proceed with their depressingly stagnating case. As expected, Art agreed that Raylan should pay a visit to Hunter Mosely at Tramble. What Raylan didn’t expect (all right, maybe he did but he could be a master at that thing called ‘denial’) was Art’s suggestion – no, _insistence_ – that Raylan also pay Arlo a visit while he was there to lean on the old man and try to get him to give up Drew Thompson. 

“He won’t,” Raylan had shot back. The more they talked about Arlo and the idea of offering Arlo a deal, the more Raylan saw red. 

“Well, then you give him a sob story,” Art had suggested casually. “Tell him you don’t want to see him die in prison.” 

Raylan couldn’t imagine the look on his own face at that moment – irritation, anger, incredulity – probably some combination of all three judging by the way Art himself was trying to keep a straight face. Raylan was so incensed that he was just as likely to punch a hole through Art’s wall at that moment, as he was to burst out laughing at the idea. As if Arlo would buy any of _that_ bullshit. 

“Raylan, go see your father,” Art had cajoled gently, handing him the folder with the F.B.I.’s pathetic inventory of the Drew Thompson files. 

Raylan had taken the folder from Art with one final glare, also grabbing the folder with the take-out menus to pad the F.B.I. folder with. With Tim’s affectionately mocking, “Go get ‘im, Tiger!” (so, he was a Spider-Man fan), Raylan left the Lexington office and braced himself for a tedious day. 

Now, sitting on a queen-sized bed in a nice hotel room (on his dime) while a sexy, young grad student was taking a shower (and had conveniently left the bathroom door wide open), Raylan reflected that he couldn’t describe his day as ‘tedious.’ Anything that ended with a showdown at the High Note bar couldn’t be called ‘tedious.’ And he certainly couldn’t deny the grim satisfaction that he’d felt when he’d put Jody down, no matter how anti-climactic the actual showdown had been. There was something admirable, albeit incredibly foolhardy, about the way Jody had challenged him. Poor Jody didn’t realize that bigger, badder, and meaner people had challenged him in the past, and more often than not, he had put them down too. 

No, his day hadn’t turned out the way he’d expected it to at all as Art had just pointedly reminded him a few moments ago, in his semi-accusing, semi-concerned way, all the while laying on the sarcasm. Their conversation had ended with Art’s phrase of the day, “Go see your fa –.” Raylan had to assume that the last word was ‘father’ since he’d hung up the phone by then. 

God, he was feeling old if the crick in his back was anything to go by. He took the Stetson off and lay down on the bed to stretch his back. _Just a few minutes_ , he told himself. Sleeping on the couch wasn’t going to do wonders for his back. He could enjoy the bed while Jackie was in the shower. Problem was, he underestimated his own fatigue and when he opened his eyes, it was to Jackie Nevada wearing one of the white terry bathrobes of the hotel standing in front of him with her hands on her hips and an appraising look on her face. 

“I gotta tell you Marshal,” she said, sounding slightly smug. “That was not the sight I expected to greet me when I got out of the shower.” 

“Sorry to disappoint,” Raylan replied, lifting himself up on his elbows. “Bed’s all yours.” 

He made to get up but a hand on his chest stopped him. “Uh-uh,” Jackie told him. “That’s not how this story goes either.” 

Raylan looked up at her thoughtfully. “We’re in a story, are we?” 

“’Course.” 

“Is it a western? A romance?” 

“How about a crime thriller or a _film noir_?” 

“ _Film noir_?” Raylan repeated. “I guess that makes you the _femme fatale_ and me the hardboiled detective.” 

Jackie smiled, young and seductive, as she eased herself into his lap and leaned forward, one arm on either side of his body. “Now we’re on the same page,” she said approvingly. “Although if you want to go with Gary Cooper in _High Noon_ , I have no objection to being Grace Kelly.” 

Raylan shook his head. “I’m not really the Gary Cooper type.” 

Jackie smiled. “No? More Dirty Harry?” 

“And you don’t strike me as the damsel-in-distress,” Raylan went on. “More like Annette Benning in _The Grifters_ but I think that was before your time.” 

“Marshal, you _are_ showing your age,” Jackie laughed. “How about Sarah Michelle Gellar in _Cruel Intentions_?” 

“The teen remake of a classic French novel. Perfect.” 

“It’s all about the remakes these days,” Jackie agreed before she breached what little distance remained between them and kissed him. 

Raylan’s response was automatic. Sometimes he thought it was just hardwired into his system. Jackie had pushed him back down onto the bed and his arms were around her back. She worked quickly, like she’d been working him all day, stripping him of his jacket and undoing the buttons of his shirt. When she ran her hands down the sides of his body, his cock definitely twitched in interest. She must’ve known that because she palmed him through the fabric of his jeans, putting pressure on the growing hardness there. But when her hand drifted to the left towards his holster, Raylan caught it. 

“I was just going to take it off,” she explained. 

“Better not.” 

Jackie had a knowing glint in her eye. “Kinky,” she said, in a tone that indicated she approved. 

Raylan couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re getting the wrong idea,” he told her. “I meant, ‘better not’ because this . . .” he motioned between them, “ . . . isn’t going any further.” 

A puzzled expression crossed Jackie’s features as she sat back. Raylan followed her example and sat up as well. 

“You weren’t resisting a moment ago,” she pointed out. 

“Let’s attribute that to the ‘heat of the moment.’” 

“And now you have a level head?” 

“Something like that.” 

Jackie looked unconvinced. “I know I didn’t read you wrong,” she said thoughtfully. “You like me. You even got us this room, which was a real surprise. Not the room,” she clarified. “But how _nice_ it is. Plus, I’ve made my interest in you pretty clear all day. And you’re good at reading signs yourself since you figured the money out. And you’re not married.” 

“Clocked the ring finger, did you?” 

“Right after the hat.” 

“No, I’m not married,” Raylan agreed. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not seeing somebody.” 

_And holy shit, wasn't that a big moment?_ Raylan thought. Actually acknowledging to somebody else – somebody very attractive who obviously wanted to sleep with him – that he was seeing Tim even though he hadn’t used Tim’s name. Since when had they become exclusive? _Since right about the time you kissed him, dumb ass._

Jackie had gone from thoughtful to intrigued. “Fidelity,” she stated. 

“You don’t think I can be faithful?” 

“Oh no,” Jackie said, running a hand down his chest. “The good guys are always faithful. I’m just surprised that you’ve managed to find someone who could actually tie you down.” 

Raylan laughed, even as he was inwardly disconcerted by her words. “So what you’re saying is, ‘I’m a player.’” 

“It takes one to know one,” she whispered in his ear. 

“Would it surprise you to know that I was married for six years?” 

“And I bet she was the love of your life?” 

“Still is.” 

“But she’s not the person that you’re seeing now?” 

“No.” 

“She must be pretty special then.” 

“ _He_ is.” 

Jackie’s eyes grew wide for a moment and then she dissolved into laughter, sliding off his lap and collapsing on the bed beside him, still laughing. 

“Fuck,” she said, when she finally caught her breath. “I can’t compete with that.” 

Raylan looked down at her, amused by her reaction. Rather than be offended, Jackie was grinning, her eyes sparkling brightly. “It’s a good thing we didn’t play poker, Marshal,” she chided. “You would’ve cleaned the floor with me.” 

“I told you. I don’t play cards,” Raylan reminded her, finally standing up. He also wanted to take a shower. 

Jackie reached forward and grabbed his hand. “Don’t sleep on the couch,” she said seriously. “It’s a really big bed. And I’m not going to jump you. At least, not anymore.” 

Raylan looked at her skeptically. “We’ll see,” he said as he headed for the bathroom. 

When he got out a little while later, the lights had been turned down except for one bedside lamp. Jackie had clearly left room for him on the bed, sleeping on one half with her back to the center. The lit bedside lamp was on the unoccupied side of the bed, which was much more tempting than the couch. Deciding not to let himself be scared off by a grad student nearly half his age, Raylan pulled on his white undershirt and slipped under the duvet. Jackie didn’t move when he got in bed, although Raylan couldn’t tell whether she was feigning sleep or not. But when he leaned over to switch off the light and settled back down, she turned around. She didn’t move any nearer, but he could feel her watching him in the darkness. 

“Do you love him?” she asked softly. 

“Isn’t it past your bedtime?” 

“I’ve never had a bedtime,” she said, sounding almost rueful. “You’re a real enigma, Marshal. You avenged the death of a woman you slept with once, but you won’t sleep with me. I pegged you for a ladies’ man – and I still think you are – but you also have a boyfriend. You must love him.” 

Raylan remained silent. The L-word was something he avoided, a lot like the C-word. These were concepts he didn’t associate with Tim, at least not until now. Tim was camaraderie, comfort, a steady presence, a wicked sense of humor and great sex. It hadn’t occurred to Raylan before that Tim could be other things, mainly because he wasn’t looking for those things. And Tim didn’t seem interested in those things as well, at least, in the beginning. All his relationships were train wrecks. In some twisted way, he was sparing Tim from all that unnecessary grief. But he also wasn’t blind to the shifting dynamics between them. Hell, just last night he’d driven practically in the dead of night from Harlan to Lexington because Tim had asked without really asking. Would he have done that for anyone else? Winona, yes. But what did that mean? That he saw Tim in the same way? Oh god, this was giving him a headache. 

“Your thoughts are awfully loud, Marshal.” 

“I got enough psychics in my life,” Raylan said, suddenly remembering that he’d have to bring Eve Munro in to look at DMV photos. “Good night, Jackie.” 

“Good night, Raylan.”


	3. Sans Soleil

Tim heard all about Raylan’s adventures the next day, how he’d assisted the Lexington police in apprehending – or killing – the fugitive that had escaped custody. Art didn’t leave out the detail that the bondswoman who had been murdered by Jody Adair had also been a former flame of Raylan’s (“More like a one-night stand,” Rachel had said quietly, but without malice), which is probably what had prompted him to abandon his own investigation in lieu of aiding the Lexington PD. It was the sort of thing that would appeal to Raylan’s moral code and particular brand of justice. 

Raylan was even later than usual, but it was clear that he had gone directly to Tramble from wherever he had spent the previous night before going to the office. 

“No deal, with either of them,” were his first words as he sat heavily in his chair. 

Tim noted how tired the other man looked. Art must’ve picked up on it as well because instead of addressing Raylan’s statement, he simply said with a teasing undertone, “Did you get a good night’s sleep?” 

Raylan looked at him warily. “Slept like a baby,” he answered. 

“On the couch?” Art pushed, an evil grin on his face. 

Raylan glared in response. 

“Tell me, Raylan. Do you ever get tired of people just throwing themselves at you?” 

“Well, Art. I suppose it depends on who’s doing the throwing.” 

“Uh huh.” Art still had that evil grin but wisely chose not to pursue the topic. “Where are with Arlo and that former Sheriff from Harlan?” he asked instead. 

“Like I said when I first came in,” Raylan replied. “No deal. Definitely not one with Arlo, but we may have a shot with Hunter. I’m just letting him stew for a bit.” 

“All right. What’s on the menu for today?” 

“Well, I’m gonna bring in Eve Munro. See if she can divine Drew Thompson’s aura from DMV photos.” 

“Who says we’re desperate?” Art threw over his shoulder as he walked back to his office. 

“Not me,” Raylan threw back at him. 

Tim had watched their entire exchange in silence. Now that it was done, he stood up abruptly with the sudden urge to refill his mug with the office’s notoriously bad coffee. He needed to put some distance between himself and Raylan for a bit so he could gather his thoughts and shore up his defenses. Raylan had been reading him far too well of late. 

He didn’t know what to make of Raylan’s little tryst with – what was her name? The UK grad student. Something Nevada. The chick had a stripper’s name. Art’s little comment about people throwing themselves at Raylan had put him on edge, mainly because it was true. Raylan was like walking sex. He’d lost count of the number of people they’d spoken to while on a case who’d shamelessly flirted with Raylan, or the number of times Raylan would turn on the charm when he wanted something. That sort of stuff was part of his DNA. Tim knew all this, so when he’d allowed himself to get involved with the other Marshal, he’d learned to set specific boundaries and most of all, have no expectations. 

Unfortunately, those boundaries were becoming more and more transparent and try as hard as he might, Tim did want more from Raylan, as unlikely as the possibility of that was. He thought things had been moving in the right direction, as hard as that was to judge given that they never talked about shit – not about the really serious stuff anyway – instead relying on one another’s actions and non-verbal cues to make sense of things. Then Raylan had spent the night at his place and he counted that whole evening as a win, especially since Raylan appeared to be seriously considering his offer of moving in. But now there was this business with the grad student and it was a cold, hard slap of reality. Maybe it was true. You couldn’t teach an old dog new tricks. Even if Raylan decided to move in with him, what did he think would come out of that? He’d pitched the living situation as college roommates or flat mates. Raylan could take that literally. Those people lived under the same roof but could also carry on separate lives. For the first time it hit Tim how horrible it would be to have Raylan living with him, but not actually _living_ with him. Did he really want _that_? 

Tim was so absorbed in his own thoughts that he didn’t notice that Raylan had followed him to the little pantry area. 

“We should start a petition,” Raylan said, leaning against the counter where the coffeemaker was. “For better coffee,” he added. 

“Just show me where to sign,” Tim replied, thankful for his steady hands as he refilled his mug. He held the pot out to Raylan who was on his left, and Raylan held his mug as Tim poured the liquid. 

“I didn’t sleep with her, you know,” Raylan said, dropping his voice even though the pantry was rather secluded from the rest of the office and there were only the two of them inside. 

“Why would that matter?” Tim asked, feigning nonchalance. 

“Because it does. And I didn’t,” Raylan repeated. “And the answer is ‘Yes.’” 

“Yes?” Tim had lost the thread of the conversation. 

“Yes, I’ll move in with you.” 

With that Raylan took a sip of his coffee, grimaced at how terrible it was and then walked out of the pantry. Tim didn’t follow him, didn’t even turn around to watch him leave. He couldn’t do that because he was grinning like an idiot, and he didn’t trust himself to _not_ tell the truth if somebody caught him and asked him why.

* * * * *

The call came in sometime after lunch. By that time, Tim had picked up Eve Munro’s mail and placed it in front of her as he’d passed by Raylan’s desk.

“Think I’ll ever get used to having my mail X-rayed?” she’d asked, only half-jokingly. 

“I sure hope not,” Tim had replied as he’d sat down at his own desk. 

He tried to concentrate on his paperwork but it was much more interesting watching Raylan get a rise out of their favorite psychic. He’d been in an inordinately good mood since that morning and abandoned his surreptitious eavesdropping of Raylan and Eve in favor of swiveling his chair in their direction and shamelessly listening in on their conversation. Raylan was merciless, and Tim was doing his damndest not to laugh. (His favorite remark had been the one about ‘aura.’) Then Art had called Raylan into his office and as Raylan had rounded Eve’s chair less than ten seconds after suggesting that she wave her hand over each photo to get a ‘vibe,’ he had said kindly, “You still look like Ava Gardner.” 

The compliment took Eve by surprise and her face broke into a smile. She laughed as she resumed looking at the DMV headshots, shaking her head as she did so. Tim smiled and shook his head too. The Givens charm had struck again. Tim noticed the change in Raylan the moment the other man returned from Art’s office but he had no time to wonder about it since Art wanted a word with him too. He knew exactly what was going on by the time he sat back at his desk again just in time to hear Eve ask Raylan, “Something happen?” Obviously, she’d also noticed the change in Raylan’s demeanor. 

Raylan’s response made Tim’s blood run cold. 

“A man who was going to make a deal to give up Drew took a shiv in the chest. They don’t think he’ll make it through the night.” 

“My god,” Eve said, shocked. “You have to leave?” 

“Not right away,” Raylan said. “Seeing me would just upset him.” 

Tim felt something turn in his stomach. At no time had Raylan given Eve any indication that the man he was talking about was his father.

* * * * *

Raylan left about an hour later telling Eve that Deputy Gutterson would bring her back to her hotel when she was done canvassing the photos. Raylan gave Tim a quick nod as he put the Stetson back on, knowing that Art had filled him in on Arlo’s condition.

For once, Tim found that he didn’t have a quip or anything meaningful to say to the other man. Everything seemed inadequate so he just nodded in reply. He didn’t see or hear from Raylan the rest of the day, although he clandestinely tracked his activities through the grapevine (meaning Art) and the transponder located on Raylan’s car. He knew when Raylan was at Tramble, knew when he’d decided to stay in Harlan for whatever reason – probably to follow up any leads, maybe even to pay a visit to Boyd. (Tim still hadn’t figured out how _that_ particular relationship worked.) He heard about the shooting from Art at the end of the day, feeling a brief moment of panic (which he never outwardly showed) that Raylan may have actually killed a cop. Raylan was a lot of things, but a cop killer wasn’t one of them. His instincts were good. There must’ve been something amiss about the whole situation for Raylan to draw his gun since he knew that Raylan only drew to kill. 

Tim didn’t see Raylan until the following morning when Shelby dropped by the office to let Raylan know that he was in the clear with regard to the shooting the night before. 

“Well, that’s a load off,” Raylan commented, walking back to his desk from the photocopying machine. 

“Raylan,” Art said, who happened to be standing right next to Tim’s desk. “I just want you to know that I was almost certain that you weren’t a cop killer.” 

“Almost?” Raylan repeated, giving Art a pointed look. 

Art laughed and turned his attention to Shelby. The conversation flowed smoothly after that with updates (or lack thereof) on the progress of the case. Shelby seemed a tad too interested in it, or so Raylan thought judging by his comment after Shelby left – “I still don’t entirely trust him.” Raylan hadn’t forgotten that Shelby was in power because of Boyd’s support and clever maneuvering. Despite Shelby’s attempts to prove to him that he had broken free of Boyd’s influence, Raylan remained skeptical, knowing first-hand how ‘persuasive’ Boyd could be. At least, that was Tim’s assessment of the situation based on what Raylan had told him. Still, that didn’t stop either of them from jotting down the names of the two Harlan elite – Lee Paxton and Gerald Johns – that Boyd had been seen hobnobbing with. A lead was still a lead, and they’d followed-up far more dubious sources of information than Shelby Parlow. 

Of course, it was after Shelby left that the shit really hit the fan as Raylan casually dropped the bomb that Arlo had died. Worse, that he’d received the call an hour ago and hadn’t bothered to inform anybody. He’d just gone about his business like it was any other day. (And what did it say about the rest of them that they hadn’t noticed any change in him?) Tim could’ve sworn that the whole office had frozen at the admission that Arlo was dead. He knew that he’d stopped his work to look at the other man and from the far end of the office, he could see that Rachel had done the same, concern etched all over her face. Art was standing right in front of Raylan’s desk, watching him very carefully. 

What began as a calm inquiry on Art’s behalf and a curt but civil reply from Raylan quickly degenerated into a shouting match, the kind the office had never seen before from its two most senior members. It’s not that Art and Raylan didn’t yell at each other (usually it was Art chewing Raylan out for some violation that would eventually give him a coronary), but they normally did it with more discretion – behind Art’s glass-walled office or after-hours – not in the middle of the damn office at ten in the morning. 

Eventually, Rachel intervened in her calm, sensible manner. “Let us carry the ball for a while. We’ll make sure you’re there when we take ‘im down.” 

Tim, apparently not so wisely, picked up on Rachel’s sporting analogy and went with, “Yeah, what do you care if we drive the ball into field goal range as long as you kick it through?” 

Raylan turned on him then and for a full ten seconds Tim got the brunt of Raylan’s wrath that had so far been reserved for the boss. 

“Okay. Do me a favor.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Don’t say shit unless you know for sure it helps.” 

Raylan returned his attention to Art and while Tim watched them continue their heated discussion in somewhat more placated tones (Raylan was winning, Art was going to cave), he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d done something truly damaging to their fledgling . . . relationship. He knew Raylan was angry and had lashed out at him in that anger, but more disturbing was that he had no idea how to help the other man. At all. It was the same feeling of helplessness that he’d experienced the day before when Raylan had received the news that Arlo was dying and had calmly nodded to Tim before leaving the office. Only now that feeling of helplessness was magnified ten times because Raylan was not calm, the situation was direr, and Tim got a terrible sinking feeling that Raylan would refuse any help or support that he offered. 

For the second day in a row, Raylan left the office early and Tim didn’t see or hear from him for the rest of the day as well. There was nothing else to do but lose himself in work.

* * * * *

Tim was off the clock by 5:00pm but he stayed on and finished the day’s paperwork until it was past 7:00pm. At that point only he and Art were left in the office and Art looked like he was about to shoo him away.

“You can’t leave later than the boss,” Art informed Tim as he stood in front of Tim’s desk. “It makes me look bad.” 

“Yes, sir,” Tim said. Being in the Rangers had ingrained that reply in him to the point that it was nearly impossible to say with sarcasm. 

Art hesitated, looking like he wanted to say something else. Tim kept silent to see whether or not he would continue. 

“Don’t suppose you heard from Raylan today? I mean, after he left?” 

“You mean stormed off in a fit of anger?” 

Art gave him such a severe look that Tim cut it out immediately. 

“No,” he replied. 

Art sighed. 

“You want me to check up on him?” Tim offered. 

“That would be above and beyond the call of duty, soldier,” Art said, studying Tim thoughtfully. 

Tim shrugged. “I’ll keep it a secret boss, but you’re obviously worried about him. And given your little disagreement earlier, he may not want to hear from you.” 

“He may not want to hear from anyone,” Art pointed out. 

“That’s probably true,” Tim agreed. “But at least I’ll give him a different target.” 

“You’re a good man, Gutterson,” Art said, knocking twice on Tim’s desk before heading out. “Lock up when you leave.” 

“Yes, sir.”

* * * * *

Tim resorted to finding Raylan through the same means he’d been using to keep an eye on him previously – the transponder in his car. Thank god for modern technology. He felt better that he was under pseudo orders from Art. He had been planning to track Raylan down anyway, whether Raylan wanted to see him or not, but now there was a professional veneer over his much more personal interest.

He jotted down the location of Raylan’s car and locked the office up for the night. His tummy ordered him to pick up food along the way and so he got two burritos and two bottles of beer just in case Raylan was hungry as well. He didn’t recognize the address of the place where Raylan was at, but what he saw when he finally parked his SUV next to Raylan’s town car was certainly not what he expected. Raylan was still wearing his office clothes, but the jacket was off, the tie was gone and his dark shirt was unbuttoned and untucked. He was in a batting cage, taking batting practice, swing after effortless swing at the balls that were being launched from the machine in front of him. Judging by his sweat-soaked undershirt, he’d been at this for some time. 

Tim entered the batting area, waving off the teenager who had appeared to give him equipment. He made his way to the bleachers behind the batting cages and sat down, opening the brown paper bag and taking out his burrito. He ate and admired the view. He was about two thirds of the way down his burrito when Raylan called it quits, or rather the machine had run through its allotment of baseballs. The same teenager emerged from the office area again and Raylan, who appeared to be expecting him, turned around and motioned that he didn’t need another machine or refill or whatever the hell it was the kid was supposed to do. Tim didn’t have a clue. He was out of his element. 

Raylan walked over to where he was and gestured towards the unopened bottle of beer that Tim had put out on the bleacher beside him. Tim nodded and Raylan picked up the bottle, popping the cap and taking a long drink. Tim watched him for a moment, his silhouette highlighted by the floodlights of the batting cages. Even without the Stetson, Raylan was every bit the cowboy, all strong lean lines, one booted foot propped on the lowest step of the bleachers. 

“There’s a burrito too if you want it,” Tim said, before polishing off his final bite. 

“Maybe in a bit.” 

Tim nodded, scrunching up the foil that had contained his burrito and tossing it back in the brown paper bag. He took a drink from his own beer. 

“GPS?” 

“The wonders of modern technology,” Tim said and then paused. “It’s a good thing too ‘cos I never would’ve thought to look here.” 

“You were looking for me?” 

“Art asked me to check up on you.” 

“He did?” 

It’s not that Raylan sounded dubious, it was more that he probably suspected that Tim’s search wasn’t purely professional. He was right too. 

“He was _going_ to,” Tim amended. “I just volunteered before he could actually ask.” 

“You could’ve just called.” 

“Wasn’t sure you’d pick up, much less tell me where you were.” 

“I would’ve,” Raylan assured him and just like that the thin layer of tension that had pervaded their conversation until that point completely disappeared. 

Tim felt himself relax as Raylan stepped over the lowest row of the bleachers and took a seat beside him. The teenager appeared again. He’d walked towards them without Tim noticing. 

“Hey Marshal,” he called out from the batting cages. “My mom’s hassling me. I really got to close up.” 

“No problem, Billy,” Raylan called back. “I’m done. Thanks for staying open so late. You need a lift home?” 

“Not tonight,” Billy replied. “Managed to borrow my dad’s car.” 

“Okay, then.” 

With a wave, Billy turned around and began the process of closing the practice range. 

“I guess that’s our cue,” Tim said, picking up the brown paper bag. He was about to stand up, but Raylan stopped him with a hand on his arm. 

“We don’t have to go just yet,” Raylan said. “Billy will close up but he’ll leave the chain unlocked to the gate in the parking area. We’ll lock the padlock on our way out.” 

“You come here often?” Tim asked, as though seeing Raylan for the first time. “I mean, you and _Billy_ have a routine.” 

Raylan removed his hand from Tim’s arm and Tim felt its loss immediately. He didn’t feel brave enough to initiate any kind of physical contact with the other man at the moment. He didn’t think of himself as a coward, but the last thing he wanted to do was inadvertently drive Raylan away. 

“Not _that_ often,” Raylan replied. “But I guess often enough. Billy was a real dick the first time I came here. I’ve won him over since then.” 

“Hmm . . . the Givens charm,” Tim commented dryly. “I bet you were one of those All-Star athletes in high school. Football. Basketball. Baseball. Had the cheerleaders falling all over you.” 

“Nah, that was Donnie Finnerman, Harlan County’s star quarterback and power forward. I just played the national pastime. But I did date the captain of the cheerleading squad. What about you?” 

“I had zero hand-eye coordination as a kid,” Tim confessed. “It’s a miracle I became a sniper at all.” 

“You telling me you didn’t play _baseball_ growing up? It’s a rite-of-passage for all American boys.” 

“Sorry for not getting inducted into your secret society, but my dad was too drunk to play catch with me in our backyard.” 

Tim stopped abruptly, realizing what he’d just said. Raylan wasn’t the only one with serious daddy issues, but he certainly hadn’t meant to bring up those issues unless Raylan brought them up first. Raylan watched him carefully for a while before looking out over the batting cages in front of them. 

“Taking BP is a less destructive form of stress relief,” he eventually said. “I don’t always just shoot people, y’know.” 

Tim could hear the irony there and he couldn’t help but grin back. It’s didn’t escape his attention that Raylan had done precisely that – shot two men on two consecutive nights. It’s not that they took killing lightly. It was part of the job, part of the world they lived in. They put themselves at risk every time they were out in the field and they accepted that. 

As if on cue, the floodlights were turned off and Tim and Raylan found themselves sitting in darkness with only the three-quarter moon for company. Tim could see why Raylan didn’t want to leave. It was quiet here. Peaceful. It didn’t feel like they were in the city at all. He stayed silent, not wanting to destroy the mood but also because he didn’t know what to say. After what seemed a long time, it was Raylan who finally spoke. 

“When I went to see Arlo yesterday morning I was plannin’ on following Art’s advice: pad the F.B.I. folder and let Arlo think that we were closing in on Drew Thompson, let him believe that his window for a deal was closing. But when I got there I just thought, _There’s always so much bullshit around Arlo. Let’s just cut through it._ So, I did. Just offered him a deal straight up that I knew he wouldn’t accept. And he told me to ‘Eat shit.’” 

Tim grinned in spite of himself. “I barely knew the man but that sounds like him.” 

“It was. Quintessential Arlo.” Raylan took another swig of his beer. “It’s what I said afterwards that keeps coming back to me. I told him that he was going to die in prison. And that he was going to die real soon.” 

“Raylan, you couldn’t have known –” 

“No, I did.” Raylan nodded thoughtfully. “Not that it was going to be Hunter – that one I didn’t see comin’ at all – but I figured that Theo Tonin would find a way to get to Arlo somehow. That deal was also about Arlo’s protection for giving up Drew Thompson. Bastard always thought he was the meanest sonofabitch around.” 

Tim suddenly remembered the guy that Arlo had recently put a shiv through his carotid artery and thought that the old dog had been pretty tough, right until the end. 

“I told him I’d be happy when he was gone.” 

_Fuck. What could you say to that?_

“I remember one of the first times I met Arlo. It was the night you and Art couldn’t get into the VA unless you were someone’s guest.” 

“You were Mr. Grumpy Pants that night.” 

Tim chuckled. “Yeah,” he agreed. “You two interrupted a bender. Wasn’t too pleased about that. But what I remember most about that night was when we were about to leave, Arlo smacked you for something you said about making a deal with lowlifes.” 

Raylan nodded. “I remember that too. Just another in our long list of loving interaction.” 

“Well, I remember it because I was ready to knock Arlo’s lights out. Didn’t care that he was an old man. Art actually had to hold me back.” 

Raylan looked at him in surprise. It was evident that he didn’t remember that part of the evening. Or hadn’t noticed it at the time. 

“Already had the hots for me, huh?” 

_You have no idea_ , Tim wanted to say. But what he said instead was, “It was the alcohol.” 

Raylan was smiling like something had been eased in him and it made Tim feel better too. Then Raylan sighed. 

“When I went to see Arlo today, the doc told me there was a good chance that Arlo would sleep through the whole visit. He’d been in and out since they’d brought him to the infirmary. It wouldn’t have surprised me if he’d have just laid there and waited me out.” 

Raylan shook his head, his smile almost rueful. 

“But I knew that he was too _mean_ of a sonofabitch to do that. I was daring him to give me something, anything, a sign maybe that he knew I was there. It was too late for apologies or, god forbid, fatherly advice.” 

The ruefulness was gone, replaced by something colder, harder, almost combative. Tim understood that Raylan’s entire relationship with his father was defined by antagonism, that challenging each other was the only way they could communicate. It had strong echoes of his own fraught relationship with his father when he’d been alive. Maybe one day he’d share some of those stories with Raylan too. Maybe Raylan would understand. 

“At the end of the day, I was asking him about Drew Thompson. It was Arlo’s last chance to do something good. It wouldn’t be redemption for all the shit he’d done in the past, but it would’ve been something.” 

“What did he say?” 

“He said, ‘Kiss . . . my . . . ass.’” 

Once more, Tim found himself speechless. Seriously, what could you say to _that_? 

But Raylan didn’t seem to need any kind of comfort. There was no trace of the anger and resentment that he’d shown just a moment ago. Instead, he was calm and Tim thought that reaction might be more frightening than the quietly contained rage that he’d sometimes glimpse in the other man. 

“Arlo was a bastard his whole life. He was a mean man and a bad husband to two good women who – god knows why – loved him. And he was a bad father.” 

“But he was still your father.” 

Raylan nodded and Tim couldn’t read him anymore. He’d transformed into a blank slate. 

“He was,” Raylan agreed in a quiet voice. Suddenly, he turned to Tim quickly and said, “I didn’t mean what I said to you earlier, about not saying shit unless it helps.” 

“I know.” 

Tim nodded, although he hadn’t known – not for sure – until that moment. 

“Good.” 

Raylan finished what was left of his beer and put the bottle down. Tim knew that was the best apology he was going to get. 

“Listen, I’m going to head back to my place tonight.” 

That was the cue that the conversation was over and Tim ruthlessly crushed the pang of disappointment that he felt at Raylan’s words. 

“Sure,” he said easily. 

_Don’t be a dick_ , he reprimanded himself. _Raylan needs space and privacy. You can give him that._ But Raylan’s Tim-radar, which had been firing on all cylinders all week long, must’ve picked up on his disappointment . . . again. 

“I need to pack up anyway,” Raylan went on. “It’s just a few boxes.” 

“Yeah, about that,” Tim said. “The timing’s not so great. There’s no rush or anything. It can wait until stuff settles down.” 

“Don’t even think of backing out on me,” Raylan replied with a surprising amount of vehemence. “In case you haven’t noticed, our timing’s always shit. Moving in with you now makes perfect sense to me.” 

Tim’s surprise quickly turned into amusement and he actually laughed. It did make a fucked-up kind of sense. “Sure, okay,” he agreed. He wanted to lean over and kiss Raylan so badly, but they were in public even if they were sitting in the dark, after-hours at a practice range. He just couldn’t. He’d been so careful for so long. 

Raylan must’ve sensed this too because he placed his right hand over Tim’s left hand, which was on the bleacher and gave it a squeeze. Then he stood up. Tim followed suit. He picked up the brown paper bag, which still contained one lukewarm burrito, while Raylan collected the two empty beer bottles. 

“You still want this?” he asked, holding the bag out to Raylan. 

Raylan took the bag and gave Tim another one of his sideways glances. “You’re not going to turn into a mother hen, are you?” he asked as they walked towards the gate that lead to the parking area, throwing the two beer bottles into a trash can along the way. “Make sure I get enough sleep, have three square meals a day, eat all my veggies?” 

“Do you eat all your veggies?” 

“All of them except peas,” Raylan answered, holding the gate open for Tim. Then he secured the chain and locked the padlock. 

Tim walked over to his SUV and got inside. He rolled down the side window before he backed out. “See you tomorrow?” 

“You bet.” 

 

**Fin.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided to see this series through to the end of Season 4, so there should be one more story to cover the remaining episodes. Unfortunately, work is getting pretty hectic so I'll be on hiatus for about a week. Until then!

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: _Justified_ belongs to FX, Graham Yost and Elmore Leonard. No offense is intended, no profit is being made.


End file.
